


Spurred

by ohlittle-red (wrightingstyle)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, Drabble, Ficlet, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, Past Character Death, Past Grief/Mourning, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:52:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrightingstyle/pseuds/ohlittle-red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek tries to be more obvious about his feelings. Stiles does not react according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spurred

**Author's Note:**

> beta'd by the lovely [sourirwolf](sourirwolf.tumblr.com). inspired by ([x](http://wheelsonabucket.tumblr.com/post/53413303268/dylan-obrien-my-super-sweet-tag-video-x))

Derek stands woodenly in the middle of Stiles' chaotic room.

He'd come in through the window an hour ago, borrowed iPod in hand, and gotten to work. There really hadn't been much to do in preparation; his plan wasn't elaborate and while Stiles' room was very much that of a teenaged boy, he was particularly uptight and tidy where his bed was concerned, so Derek hadn't needed to set the stage either. But he'd come early anyway, nerves subconsciously driving his hands to make all the familiar turns to the Stilinski house after he'd gotten in the car in an effort to calm himself.

The scents of _family_ and _Laura_ are barely detectable in the Camaro's interior now, but still help to iron out the crease between his eyebrows and bleed the tension from his shoulders.

He's taken a lot less long drives lately, preferring to come here when he needs a break instead. He doesn't know exactly when spending time with the kid whose default setting is pain-in-the-ass, complete with an adjustable level of sarcasm, became relaxing. It was probably somewhere around the time he got a glimpse of Stiles when his walls were down. He'd dropped by to ask a favor, and had found Stiles the perfect picture of stillness, holding onto a stalk of flowers that looked a lot like wolfsbane. With no reason to fear him and this strong compulsion to stay, Derek took a seat on the floor near the window and waited.

Later, when the dampness on Stiles' face had dried and he was once again willing to interact with the world, Derek learned some things. It was the anniversary of Mrs. Stilinski's death. The flowers in Stiles' hand were not wolfsbane but larkspur. A symbol of an open heart, deep love, and beautiful spirit, the brilliant, rich purple blooms seemed to not only represent how Stiles saw his mother, but also Stiles himself.

Through stilted sentences, he had shared with Derek the memory of learning how to make his bed. He had been messy about it, barely remembering to do it like most kids. But then his mom had gotten sick and he spent a lot of time staring at neat, hospital corners. So he'd learned-- to feel somehow closer to her, and make the hospital less scary. It was silly, Stiles had said, but it'd stuck. And that is why, in a room of chaos, Derek stares at a perfectly-made bed. It makes his heart clench with a feeling he’d rather not know.

They'd grown closer after that. Mostly movie-watching, and a fond, pleasant ease in their interactions, but recently Derek's been trying to hint at wanting more. To be _closer_. Stiles hasn't seemed to get any of the more subtle clues he's left, and that has lead him to what he's about to do. He'd thought long and hard about his plan, and he thinks that as a guy, Stiles will like it.

 

After this, there will be no mistaking his intentions.

 

\------

Derek can hear the moment Stiles pulls into the driveway. Reclining in the center of the bed, he listens to Stiles mumble into his phone about extra assignments and how much of a bastard Mr. Harris is. The colorful language pulls a puff of quiet laughter from him. Scott replies in sympathy and soon disconnects, having to start his shift at the clinic. Stiles has dragged himself and the backpack trailing behind him to the top of the stairs now, and with only a couple more feet to the room, Derek takes a deep breath to slow his racing heart.

Stiles shuffles through the door, and he waits on needles for a response, but it would seem the boy is so preoccupied with juggling all his snacks and supplies, he doesn't notice the figure sprawled out across his bed. Until Derek impatiently clears his throat.

Stiles jerks in the direction of the sound, accidentally scattering brightly-colored plastic bags about the floor, before freezing in place.

"Dude."

Determined not to let his nerves show, Derek has carefully schooled his features into a mask of fond exasperation, eyebrows raised in question. _Well?_

Several moments pass and Stiles still hasn't responded to his presence or his silent question. In fact, he's eerily still. Stiles without some kind of pent-up energy attempting to escape his body is not a good sign. Derek has never done this before, but he's pretty sure it isn't supposed to break Stiles. Maybe he should--

"Get the fuck off my bed."

Derek’s breath stalls in his chest.

That was _not_ the reaction he was hoping for when he planned this. Not at all.

Hot indignation and the cold shock of embarrassment flood through his body, the intensity of it all bringing his wolf to the surface. His eyes flash red and he bares his teeth in a visceral response to the attack on his heart.

After a few broken beats, he tries to push the hurt aside in an attempt to understand _why_.

"Stiles," he starts.

"No. I've had a shitty day. You don't get to go all alpha on me.” Stiles’ fists are clenched by his side; his whole stance is tense and unwelcoming.

“This is my room and that is my bed, and you know how I feel about it. My house, my rules, buddy. And the rules say--"

"Stiles."

"--thou shalt never defile Stiles' bed. Unless--"

"Stiles," Derek growls lowly.

"--you have my express permission to do the defiling. Preferably while defiling me--"

"STILES!"

"WHAT?!"

"That's what I'm trying to do!" Derek grits out.

At that, Stiles looks, _really looks_ at Derek who is--Derek is on the bed, yes, but it's in nothing except tight black boxer-briefs that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. As Derek stares on, it seems as though Stiles' brain may have temporarily short-circuited. He just stands there, mouth an open wet gash, words on standby, while the music Derek queued up floats softly between them. Derek can tell when Stiles finally hears it, his hand reflexively moving towards his pocket, before he realizes his phone isn't vibrating, that isn't one of his ringtones, and the sound is coming from his stereo.

_\--my power, my pleasure, my pain, baby_

_To me you're like a growing addiction that I can't deny._

His eyes widen in recognition.

"Uh--is that--are you--are you playing _Kiss from a Rose_?" Stiles finally stutters out, voice cracking at the end. Before Derek can respond, the chorus swells forward in confirmation.

 

_I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the gray._

_Ooh, the more I get of you,_

_The stranger it feels, yeah_

_Now that your rose is in bloom,_

_A light hits the gloom on the gray._

It would be almost entertaining to watch the blush rise high and beautiful on Stiles' cheeks, as the wheels turn and realization dawns, if it weren't for Derek's heart being on the line. He is waiting almost naked on Stiles' bed, playing Kiss from a Rose in the background, and though he can see the humor, he couldn't be more serious. Derek Hale is _seducing_ Stiles Stilinski and from Stiles' reaction so far, it isn't going well.

Any hope of salvaging his dignity has vanished entirely and he feels like a fool.

He moves to the edge of the bed to gather his clothes in defeat, but before his hand reaches the dark gray bundle of fabric on the floor, Stiles' long fingers wrap around his wrist. Derek's whole body tenses, but he does not move away, shocked into stillness by the unexpected touch.  A small, unwanted spark of hope flairs up, and he waits for Stiles to speak again.

"Wait...were you trying to... seduce _me_?"

Derek doesn't look up from where their skin is touching, and offers a disgruntled huff in response. The way Stiles asked, his quiet voice echoing loudly with bewilderment and incredulity, angers Derek. He’ll never understand how Stiles can be so self-deprecating.  

"Okay, yeah, it's fairly obvious that's what you were doing. But _why_ , dude?" Stiles tries. At Derek's continued silence, he adds, "I mean, it's also fairly obvious that while we're kinda bros now, you really only tolerate me at best, so this is totally out of left field--"

"But it's not," Derek whispers, finally looking up at Stiles. His mask has dropped, face vulnerable and contorted in clear distaste of having to verbally explain himself, but he soldiers on.

"I've been trying, but you just haven't been... _getting it_. So," he makes a quick, frustrated gesture towards himself and the bed.

"...Isaac said I needed to be more... clear. Of my intentions," he finally finishes.

He ducks his head down, once again pointedly staring at where Stiles' pale fingers are delicately wrapped around his wrist. He rues the day he decided to listen to Isaac; apparently Stiles had just been ignoring his previous gestures out of courtesy and is now being forced to reject Derek outright. When Stiles removes his hand, Derek is at once both crestfallen and relieved. At least now he knows for sure and can stop sitting here on display where he is not wanted. He quickly decides that his previous plan to gather his clothes and redress is not worth the agonizing amount of awkward silence he'll have to endure, so he'll leave as he is. _No one will see him-- he'll keep to the forest._

As he prepares to make his escape through the bedroom window, Stiles stops him with another simple touch. This time the tips of his fingers are gently nudging Derek's chin upwards, coaxing Derek to look at him. When Derek's gaze meets Stiles' face, it's greeted by flush pink lips pulled into a small, private smile, and eyes glinting with determination and mischief. He barely has time to contemplate just how beautiful Stiles looks in that moment before those lips he's wanted for so long are sealed tightly against his own.

Stiles' hand slides up to cup Derek's cheek, while his other finds the back of Derek's head, carding through the soft, thick hair at the crown. Derek has been kissed many times before, but never like this. It's obvious Stiles hasn't had much experience, but Derek is letting him have control and it feels so damn good.He needs to get closer though, _always closer_ , so he urges the boy forward and up into his lap. Stiles' balance being what it is, he more or less stumbles onto the werewolf, his lips parting in a gasp when their hard-ons meet. Derek is more than eager to take advantage of the opportunity Stiles' open mouth presents, and promptly licks inside to taste all his boy has to offer. His tongue chases traces of artificial sweetness and something uniquely _Stiles_. He's never tasted anything better and he knows he never will. Thankfully, Stiles is more than happy to allow him this pleasure, audibly enjoying how intent Derek is to explore every curve and texture.

The room is a symphony of swallowed moans  and breathy sighs.

Soon though, desperate to continue but running out of air, Stiles breaks away. He substitutes real kisses with mouthing wet, sloppy ones down Derek's neck. His hips still rock in a circular pattern over the hard flesh beneath them, but once he reaches the curve of corded muscle above Derek's shoulder, his kisses have reduced to a hot, heavy panting. Not that Derek minds at all.

After a little while, his voice breaks through the sound of their shared breaths.

"Why _Kiss from a Rose_?" he mutters into the tan skin under his swollen lips.  

Derek takes a deep breath while he slides his hands down Stiles' flanks, shifting them both back onto the bed to lie side by side. Somehow Stiles manages to stay completely wrapped around him. Once they're settled, he answers.

"You like Batman. And it was in one of those movies," he shrugs, as though this choice was not something he had agonized over for weeks. "And it says...things. That I mean. Seemed appropriate."

Stiles is quiet for a few excruciating moments, then pulls back to look at Derek, his face full of awe.

"You _love_ me. You just confessed your love to me through a song from Batman Forever," he laughs excitedly. "This has to be the best love confession in the history of love confessions." 

Derek simply moves forward to plant a meaningful kiss on Stiles' parted lips in response. He can’t pretend this is casual, doesn’t want to. Because it’s true. He loves Stiles-- so fucking much it hurts. When he moves away after pressing in one last quick peck, Stiles is dazed, his face split open by a wide, dopey smile. The sight makes Derek's heart stutter in his chest.

"I love you too, you know."  

Derek does know now. He can hear the truth in those words. And with Stiles wrapped around him, content and quiet, he thinks it's all he'll ever need. Something loose and broken inside him slides back into place.

"And I’m sorry about before. You can lie in my bed whenever you want. But, can we get back to the defiling now?"

Derek can only grin while he covers Stiles' body with his own.

\-------

Derek Hale Seduction Status: ~~Failed~~ Success

Isaac loves his new scarf.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at Sterek! I haven't written for this fandom at all previously, but I decided now was the time, and knocked it out. I also designed the cover art. Hopefully you enjoyed.
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr](ohlittle-red.tumblr.com)!


End file.
